Hurt
by DenniBenni
Summary: Tim Drake grieves over his father's death and Dick is there to help him. Brotherly Fic. ONESHOT.


Summary: Tim Drake grieves over his father's death and Dick is there to help him. ONESHOT.

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or its characters

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Tim laid in his bed at Wayne Manor. He had the comforter wrapped loosely around himself, his knees pulled to his chest as he stared straight ahead. It was late so the room was nearly pitch black, except for the stream of light from the moon outside of the window.

All he could hear was the sound of bugs outside and silence. Just a dead silence that nearly deafened him, if that was possible. The crying had stopped and now his face was stained and damp from the tears that had invaded his eyes.

His father…his father was gone now and he didn't really know what to do. He hadn't left the room for two…maybe three days except to go to the bathroom. He had also left to sit in the shower under the warm water, where he could cry and it would be hidden and not all over his face.

He gripped the bed sheet so tightly that his hand was starting to cramp, until finally he had to relax it from the numb pain that was shooting up his arm and into his shoulder. He might have had his hand like that for five hours straight. Maybe more…

Bruce had come in last night. Told him that some of his friends had called and tried to talk to him. But the teen just didn't want to talk. The lump in his throat was to thick to speak past. Every time he tried to speak his voice would make that horrible cracking sound that he loathed _so _much.

The pillow wasn't soft anymore and in all truth, Tim's body was sore. His stomach hurt from the sobbing he had done the past few days and he was just overall soar from lying in the bed. His eyes felt dry from crying out most of the moister and his head pounded, either from hunger or crying. He didn't know…

And for the moment it was quiet. It made him want to cry…he just felt alone. All alone in the giant mansion. Of course Bruce and Alfred were here, but he couldn't feel their presence. He couldn't feel, period.

There was a quiet knock at the door, which once again Tim couldn't say _"Go away" _or _"Come in". _His voice would just crack, and where would he be? He would probably just break down and cry again.

After a few seconds the door made the squeaky sound that Alfred had promised to fix soon and someone walked in. Just by the shadow that was brought in from the light in the hall let Tim know that the shadow was indeed his brother, Dick Grayson.

The door shut again behind him and Tim could hear the footsteps of his brother walking towards the bed and soon the man was standing over him. Tim felt a warm hand brush through his hair and Dick's voice whispered, "scoot over."

Tim didn't argue or resist and instead just moved to the left giving his brother room to climb into the bed next to himself. He knew Dick fixed things through physical contact. Which Tim found peculiar considering the man had practically been raised by Bruce, who did not like any sort of physical contact unless it was necessary. Like the night Tim's father had died…

Dick was under the covers in a second and had his younger brother in his arms. Tim was stiff at first, but soon his sore muscles just relaxed into the embrace. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion when Dick whispered, "I'm so sorry."

Why was he sorry? He didn't know what was going to happen. He had no idea what was going to happen. So why was he sorry? There was no reason or rhyme to it, but Tim didn't ask. He couldn't talk. The lump in his throat was there and he couldn't talk past that stupid lump. If he did, he would shatter.

So instead he laid in the embrace as Dick continued to mumbled apologies. Until, finally Tim couldn't take it anymore and he croaked, "why are you sorry?" Oh that was hard. It hurt his chest and his throat to talk.

Dick ran a hand through Tim's hair and whispered, "I should have been there. I should have gotten here sooner. God, I'm a horrible brother. Timmy, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."

Tim's eyes widened at the way Dick was rambling. Tim mumbled, "it's ok…you…you couldn't…" He had to stop. His voice was breaking. He had to stop talking or it was going to break for sure.

"It's ok to cry, Timmy," Dick said quietly.

Tim shook his head, "I've…been crying for the past…how ever many days it's been. I can't…it hurts to cry now." His eyes were starting to sting with tears and his stomach felt sick like it usually did right before he started to cry.

Dick's soft voice murmured, "just cry. It's ok. You have to cry for it to get better."

That did it. Tim was crying and the tears were slipping through his eyelids that he was trying so hard to keep closed. They were shut tightly, but the tears still managed to leak through. Dick was comforting him, but it wasn't helping. Tim just wanted to stop crying. He just wanted the hurt to go away.

"It doesn't feel real," he sobbed quietly against Dick's chest, trying to draw any sort of comfort from the man.

Dick sighed sadly, "it never does."

Dick placed a kiss on the top of Tim's head and allowed the boy to cry. He knew what Tim was going through. _He knew_. He knew how bad it hurt and how the empty feeling in your chest just never really goes away. You just have to fill it with things. Happier things. Now, these things will never fill the hole completely. Dick _knew_ this. But, it helped to make it feel…not so empty anymore.

Slowly Tim felt exhaustion starting to take hold as he began to drift off into sleep. The last thing he remembered thinking was…

"_Please…don't let me lose anyone else…I don't know if I can take that…"_

He really didn't know if he could…

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Wow, I really don't know what inspired this. I guess I was just in the mood to write something depressing.

Anyway, hope you like it and please review! Sorry for any grammar errors, it was kind of a fast project. :)


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